


precipice

by radialarch



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Boot Worship, Cock Warming, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:00:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26002309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radialarch/pseuds/radialarch
Summary: Dimitri’s eye was half-lidded, his cheek brushing against Felix’s thigh, like a contented cat. Felix was struck by the desire to reach out and do something stupid, like stroking through the fine gold of Dimitri’s hair. He swallowed it down and settled for clearing his throat instead, and Dimitri looked up, eye still hazy, mouth close enough to his groin that Felix twitched at the imagined touch."Shouldn't you be doing something?" Dimitri asked. "You're just staring.""I don't know," Felix said, "it'syourfantasy."
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 7
Kudos: 96
Collections: Dimilix NSFW Bingo





	precipice

**Author's Note:**

> for dimilix nsfw bingo, loss of control / sex comedy / under the desk / biting / felix's feet, plus cockwarming (free space). don't look at me.

“You’re not going to _fit_ ,” Felix said.

Dimitri, already on his knees, didn’t respond, too busy pulling his broad shoulders back into the space beneath his desk. He did manage to fit, somehow; he was grinning when he tilted his head sideways so he could stare up at Felix with his good eye. “You were saying?” 

“Is this what you think about instead of grain taxes?” Felix demanded, even as he slid one foot forward under the desk, between Dimitri’s knees. It looked cramped—the position couldn’t be comfortable—but Dimitri was the one eagerly curling his hand around Felix’s calf. When Felix straightened his knee a little more so he could run the toe of his boot up Dimitri’s inner thigh, Dimitri’s grip tightened, brief and sudden, before he let go.

“Not often enough,” Dimitri said, having the gall to sound mournful. “Though, I must admit that Count Gloucester’s new formula has simplified the process considerably—”

“Dimitri,” Felix said, between gritted teeth. This was the problem with trying to bed the king. “Is this the _time_.”

“Ah. Yes, of course. Apologies,” said Dimitri, sounding not at all sorry, but in the next moment he’d reached for Felix’s chair and dragged it close enough that Felix could feel the heat of him between his legs, so Felix wasn’t going to complain. 

Dimitri’s eye was half-lidded, his cheek brushing against Felix’s thigh, like a contented cat. Felix was struck by the desire to reach out and do something stupid, like stroking through the fine gold of Dimitri’s hair. He swallowed it down and settled for clearing his throat instead, and Dimitri looked up, eye still hazy, mouth close enough to his groin that Felix twitched at the imagined touch.

"Shouldn't you be doing something?" Dimitri asked. "You're just staring."

"I don't know, it's your fantasy," Felix said. Dimitri looked good on his knees, of course he was staring. "What, like your _actual_ work—"

Dimitri pressed his forehead to Felix's knee. "Just. Pretend," he said, into the top of Felix's gaiter. The tops of his ears shone pink through his hair. "A letter, perhaps. You're not _entirely_ idle."

This shouldn't have been doing it for him. Felix did not generally harbor a passion for paperwork. But he obligingly picked up a quill, and underneath the desk Dimitri reached for the laces of his trousers.

"Dimitri," Felix said, his prick stirring again with interest, and Dimitri only said, "Your letter," as he slid his hands further up Felix's thighs and took him into his mouth.

Felix had no letters to send. The steward at the Fraldarius estate sent a weekly report when he was absent, but between her capable hands and his standing orders there was rarely a need to respond. He had few personal correspondences to keep up—Sylvain liked to complain about this on the occasions they met at court, but surely no one needed to prattle on the way he did. He was more comfortable scratching out requests for reinforcements on the back of the same scrap of parchment his orders had come on, but that was probably not what Dimitri had in mind.

Well, it was all pretend, regardless. He didn’t need to dip the quill. He shifted forward for a sheet of parchment, and Goddess, that was a strange sensation, his half-hard cock in the soft heat of Dimitri’s mouth. Generally, when Felix was in this position, Dimitri was more … involved, eager to bring Felix pleasure. Now, there was only the stirring of his breath at the top of Felix’s thigh, where the edge of his tunic met bared flesh, the steady pressure of his body between Felix’s thighs.

“There’s no need to, ah, interact with me,” Dimitri had said when he first brought up the idea, eye lowered and pink on his cheeks, like Felix wasn’t hopelessly gone for him. “You may pretend that I am not there, if it’s easier.” Just _how_ Dimitri expected him to do that Felix had no idea. He was radiating heat through the wool of Felix’s breeches, and besides—Felix was chagrined to realize—he’d become accustomed to talking while his dick was inside Dimitri’s mouth. Not that Dimitri required much direction anymore, but he liked it when Felix praised his efforts. 

With heroic effort, Felix scrawled an imaginary line. Another. Dimitri wasn't trying to tease, he suspected, but every time he breathed, the underside of his cock shifted on Dimitri's tongue. He was leaking, despite his best efforts, fluid dribbling from his prick, and the slow movement of Dimitri’s throat when he swallowed only made it worse.

Then something touched the side of his thigh, right where the gaiter unhooked, and Felix nearly upended the ink.

“ _Dimitri_.”

“Shh,” Dimitri said around him before he pulled off, excruciatingly slow. His lower lip was shining with spit, and as Felix stared he ducked his head to lick another trickle of wetness sliding down the side of Felix’s cock. “I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

So that’s why he’d asked Felix what he’d be wearing. Felix was going to kill him. A shame to become the first Fraldarius to go down in history for regicide. “Really,” he said, strained. “How considerate of you.”

Dimitri grinned and went back to peeling the gaiter down Felix’s thighs. His hands followed, warm against the inside of Felix’s knee, his calf. Surely this was excessive. When Felix undressed, the process was far less of a production. Did Dimitri even have room beneath the desk to maneuver the whole thing?

Apparently so. There was a brief moment while Dimitri shifted Felix’s foot up, then the gaiter tumbled out from beneath the desk. He left Felix’s boot braced atop Dimitri’s thigh while he went for the other leg. If he wasn’t careful, Felix was going to end up kicking him.

The second gaiter, unhooked with less care than before. They’d both given up the pretense that Felix was doing anything other than watch as Dimitri turned his attention to Felix’s boots. 

“Would you like help?” Felix said. No, apparently not. “Harder, then?”

Dimitri’s hands stilled on the leather; then he nodded. Of course that was it. Dimitri had tucked Felix’s left foot beneath arm for more leverage, but his right was free. Slowly, he advanced the foot along the top of Dimitri’s thigh, until he could just brush the bulge at Dimitri’s groin. 

“You were doing something,” Felix reminded Dimitri, when his fingers faltered. “Get to it.”

He couldn’t tell through the bottom of the boot, but he suspected Dimitri was getting harder. Certainly his breaths were coming faster as Felix nudged at him, irregular to keep Dimitri off-balance. It took him a while to tug the boot off, because he kept having to pause and uncurl his fingers. 

Then he started on the stocking.

Dimitri’s hand cupping his heel, bleeding heat onto bone and tendon, and silk sliding down his leg. Felix had never before thought of his stockings as anything other than utilitarian, but when Dimitri slipped his foot free and stroked a thumb firmly along his arch, Felix couldn’t help the flex of his toes, the groan that slid out between his teeth.

“You’re quite tense,” Dimitri remarked, like this whole thing hadn’t been his idea. Felix pushed the toe of his boot down harder in retaliation, felt more than saw the twitch in the muscle of Dimitri’s thigh. He could make Dimitri come, just with this—he had before—but tonight he was letting Dimitri take the lead.

Dimitri had let his bare foot fall, to rest atop Dimitri’s knee; but he didn’t reach for the other boot, merely came back to the opened flap of Felix’s breeches, curling a warm hand around his hip. Felix chanced a look downward and immediately regretted it. He knew what Dimitri looked like during sex, flushed with desire, could nearly tolerate the fondness that rose in him at Dimitri’s eager touch. But he had no defenses for this: Dimitri’s eyelashes in a low sweep over his cheek, the lines of his face softened, peaceful. His whole chest felt dangerously tender, paradoxically breakable. 

“Dimitri,” he said, with a rasp he couldn’t help. “ _Do_ something.”

He had the King of United Fódlan on his knees, but it was Dimitri holding him between his hands, Dimitri breathing wetly into the crease of his thigh. If Dimitri touched his length, he might have come, wound close to breaking; but Dimitri only stroked gently over the jut of Felix’s hip, the stubble on his cheeks rasping against the tender skin on the inside of Felix’s thigh, keeping him trembling, vulnerable and open. He might have done it for an eternity. Felix loved him, and in that Dimitri held all the cards.

And then Dimitri, damn him, bit, right at the top of his thigh. Felix made a wounded noise—he couldn’t stop, the sting of it feeding the heat curled in his groin, the arrested jerk of his hips in Dimitri’s merciless grip. There was something snapping inside him, threatening to drag him under, but Felix said, “ _Please_ ,” felt Dimitri press into his skin, _yes, yes, yes_ —

Dimitri had him; Dimitri wouldn’t let him go. Felix let himself shatter, safe in Dimitri’s hands.

The final casualty count was a splintered chair leg, the bite mark still throbbing on Felix’s thigh, and a quill.

“I liked that quill,” said Dimitri. “It was a nice quill. You might have put it down before you—”

“I liked my _leg_ ,” said Felix, rolling over on his pillow. Dimitri, kindly, refrained from pointing out that Felix had refused the vulnerary. Dimitri was overly careful of his strength, left marks on Felix only rarely. He’d suffer the consequences in the morning.

“I can’t believe you did that to the chair,” Felix added, who’d watched Dimitri wobble when he tried to climb up to his feet with a distant sense of resignation. “I did say you should have a cushion.” The floor of Dimitri’s office was stone. Maybe a nice rug, if they wanted to do this again.

Dimitri laughed, plastering himself along Felix’s back. _He’d_ taken the vulnerary. His knees would be fine in the morning. “Yes, so you’ve mentioned. Next time, I shall follow your advice.”

“Next time,” said Felix. He rolled the words over in his mouth, wondering how they’d sound.

Dimitri’s breath was warm on Felix’s neck. “Next time?”

“You can tell me what to wear.”

There was warmth flaring in Felix’s face, in his ears, a low-banked fire in his belly. None of it could compare to the heat in Dimitri’s voice when he said, low and steady, “All right. I will.”


End file.
